


Love's Not Time's Fool P.II Ch.6 THE END

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4222830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"These are the times that try men's souls." T.Paine<br/>One year post 513</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love's Not Time's Fool P.II Ch.6 THE END

****

 

 

 **For in him he felt a warning, a shaft of terror. He was suspended between radiance and darkness, between bitter irony and faith.** C. McCullaugh  
  
With Justin’s words booming like thunder, Brian wanted to point out his expectations were unrealistic. He couldn’t. Because he desperately needed to believe. Not even his life vest of numbness could block out the trickle of hope that had wormed its way inside. And refused to leave. But caution was and always had been his middle name. While he saw the potential, he also saw the risk.   
  
_Some asshole told me that if you believe in something strongly enough, you have to be willing to sacrifice everything._  
  
Points and counterpoints ricocheted in his head—good, bad; right, wrong. “Look, I know you’re pissed, but being apart gave us time to try and work through whatever crap we had.”  
  
“You mean whatever crap you had.” Justin raised a knowing brow. “And what a coincidence your road to self-discovery also gave you a convenient excuse to disappear.”  
  
His blood iced. No one could understand, not even Justin. He wasn’t kidding about trying to work through crap. Some lessons were taught and learned too well. No part of him was untouched. The physical bruises were nothing. He could deal with those. Fuck, he did deal with them. But the invisible wounds, the mental scars on his brain and emotional scars on his heart? They left their mark. They did the damage. He picked at non-existent threads on his sleeve. “There were some things—”    
  
“I could have helped you, Brian. We could have helped each other. That’s what partners, or people who are supposed to be partners do.”  
  
“No. I needed to deal with some shit alone. I couldn’t drag you into it. It wouldn’t have been fair.”  
  
Justin let out a mocking snort. “Since when do you play fair?”  
  
The comment stung. Resisting the impulse to scratch the fiery prickles, he pinched his lips between his teeth and white-knuckled his cup. “Staying away was a good thing.”     
  
With each incredulous head turn, hair fluttered like stalks of wheat in a summer breeze. “You’re fucking amazing. You could convince yourself it snows in August.”  
  
“That’s why I’m good at my job. If you can’t convince yourself, how can you convince anyone else?”  
  
“The problem is you’re too good. You’re better at fooling yourself than you are at fooling others,” Justin said, preternaturally calm.  
  
Retorts lined up for duty like soldiers for battle. Yet he let the dig pass. Again. A good pissing match was cathartic, even liberating, but no fucking way in hell would he be drawn into one now. This wasn’t the time to explore the inner workings of Brian Kinney. Not that there ever was a good time. The subject would be off limits forever if it were up to him. But it wasn’t, thanks to a certain blond’s irritating persistence to discuss the subject ad nauseam. “If you’re honest, you’d admit it was good, too.”  
  
“Honest? Try being honest with yourself for a change,” Justin bit out. He flipped a spoon upside down, right side up, back and forth.  
  
What the fuck was the devious little shit up to? Up and down, back and forth. Hypnotized by the motion, he couldn’t believe he was so easily distracted and worse, that he didn’t know why. He fingered the stack of napkins sticking out from the dispenser and flicked the edges. Up and down, back and forth. The stir in his pants gave him his answer. Fuck. Enough. He stilled the spoon’s movement with his palm. Their eyes locked for a fraction of a second, and the collision hit him like a sucker punch.  
  
Justin jerked away as if scalded and skittered his gaze around the coffee shop. “Fuck!”  
  
Shocked by the outburst, Brian all but launched himself out of his seat, every nerve on high alert. “What?”  
  
“Fuck! Fuck!”  
  
“Christ, can you give me a clue? On a sliding scale of one to ten, how much worse is ‘fuck fuck’ than a simple fuck?”  
  
With an eye on the clock, Justin flung his bag over his shoulder. “I have to go. Sofia wanted to talk about the reviews, and I forgot my fucking phone. Barb, can I have the check please?”  
  
“Sure thing, honey.”  
  
“Hold on!” Brian scrambled out of the booth. “I didn’t come all this way for you to bask in your glory without me.” He reached for the bill, but nimble fingers snatched it out of his hand. A euphoric tingle radiated up his arm from the touch, and although he had enough sense to never hit the needle, such a heady feeling was like a mainlined drug. And like an addict, he wanted more.  
  
_“Every kiss, every hug seems to act just like a drug. You’re getting to be a habit with me.”_ _© H.Warren_  
  
                                                                                                           * * *                                                            

Justin walked out of the coffee shop and into the sunshine guided by a light but confident hand on the small of his back—as though it had a right to be there. An unexpected flush warmed his face at their first, non-confrontational contact since the gallery. Mortified, he cursed his body for its betrayal.  
  
“You okay?”

He whipped his head around. “Yeah, why?”  
  
“Your face is red.”           
  
Of course God Almighty had to notice. He was fucking omniscient. The weird vibe thing could be creepy as hell sometimes. And annoying. Like now. He tugged at his collar and prayed Brian would accept the lame explanation. “Just a little warm.”  
  
He sneaked a sidelong glance while they waited for the light to change. With the caramel jacket slung over his arm and perfectly tailored jeans that emphasized his curved ass and forever legs, Brian looked more like he belonged in New York than Pittsburgh. Right. Talk about wishful thinking. He gave a resolute blink and redirected his gaze straight ahead. No reason to feed the ego that landed any more than it fed itself. But his eyes had a mind of their own, zipping back again and again. Fucking great. Blue ping-pong balls for pupils.    
  
He couldn’t stop fidgeting. The closeness was claustrophobic. Brian’s cologne? Overpowering. Nostrils twitching like a hound dog with a scent, he stepped off the curb strangled by the leash of his past and didn’t see or hear the car barrel around the corner. When he registered what was happening, he reacted the only way his distracted mind would allow. He just stood there, a panicked roar howling in his ears as metal scraped against concrete and dinged his forehead with an airborne gravel pellet.  
  
Yanked onto the sidewalk by superhuman fingers, he stumbled backward on jelly legs. His heart slammed against his ribs, and he sucked in a shuddering breath. Fuck! The asshole missed him by inches. He smelled his own fear, sharp and sour, in every strand of his DNA and fought to shrug it off. If he didn’t, there was a good chance beauty would morph into the beast. His pulse still racing, he pulled himself together. Maybe he could beat the transformation. “Whew! New York drivers. If we don’t cross now....” He took two steps. By himself. _Shit. Too late_. His shoulders slumped. “What?”  
  
“That’s it? That’s all you can say? ‘New York drivers’?”  
  
He kept his voice light. “It happens all the time.”  
  
“What happens all the time? Cars trying to beat the light or you almost getting killed?”  
  
The concern behind the tight-lipped question was the only reason he tempered his answer. “You seem to think I need protecting. I’ve gotten along just fine this past year by myself.”  
  
Brian cocked his head to the side and gestured toward the steady stream of traffic. “If this is an example of just fine, it’s a good thing you’re not in court against the wicked muncher. Not a very convincing case. But hey, knock yourself out. Far be it from me to interfere in your quest to become a hood ornament.”

                                                                                                                                                                                  
  
Pick and choose the battles. This one wasn’t worth arguing over. “I’m not— Never mind.” He tugged at the buttery leather. “C’mon, let’s go.”  
  
Oddly comforted by the grip on his elbow as they dodged between buses and cars, he singsonged, “Look both ways. Cross at the green, not in between.” When a hairline fissure cracked the granite, he relaxed. A little.

                                                                                                          * * *                                                                                                   
  
Brian came to a complete stop in front of the building. He stared at the door, at the jagged cardboard taped over a shattered glass pane, at the beer bottles scattered on the steps and expected a movie director to call ‘Cut.’ Christ, it was worse than before. Why don’t they post a fucking sign, ‘Property Condemned! Do Not Enter’? He disguised his muffled groan of horror with a cough and when he spoke, it was with his usual panache. “Nice repair job. The brown cardboard doesn’t clash with the brick.”

                                                                                                                            
  
“Do not say another fucking word,” Justin warned.  
  
Not wanting to waken the devil in the deep blue sea, he took the order seriously and made a zipping motion over his mouth.  
  
“Cut it out. I don’t need a reminder of the last time you tried to be cute.”

 _So much for a fucking ounce of prevention._ Crinkling his nose at the combination of musty garbage, urine, and detergent chemicals, he trudged up the three flights of stairs with an irrational urge to play He-Man and haul him to Loft Grayskull. He followed him down the dingy, graffiti-decorated hall and remembered his shock the first time he saw the shoebox apartment. Barely room for a bed and kitchenette, it reeked of pathos. But other than an occasional eye roll, he said nothing. He had lost that privilege.

                                                                                      

Justin fumbled for his keys, unlocked the locks and shoved the door open. “After you.”  
  
Flaking paint, broken tiles—what the fuck crawled across the floor?—heaped clothing, a sink with dirty dishes. “Love what you’ve done with the place. Still going for the starving artist look?”  
  
                                                                                            

  
“Do you have any idea the number of people who’d pay a fortune for this?” Justin grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and lobbed it in his direction.  
  
He caught the bottle without a word. The defensive edge had raised a red flag and rhetorical or not, he knew better than to answer. But he’d also known better than to get involved in the first place and look where that got him.  
  
He threw a disdainful look at the lumpy Salvation Army sofa and shoved the dirty socks, potato chip bags and underwear on the floor before sprawling out. “Maid’s day off?”  
  
Pressing the buttons on his cell phone with one hand, Justin flipped him the bird with the other. He acknowledged the motion with a tip of his head, and half-listening to the conversation with Sofia, he mulled over his chaotic thoughts.  
  
Everything was turning out not what it was supposed to be or what he envisioned it to be. He didn’t know what was expected of him or what he expected of himself. And that was the problem. He always knew. Like a chess game, he’d evaluate situations, judge his opponents, then ruthlessly go after what he wanted. But one night on a street corner turned him into a modern-day prevaricating Hamlet, trying to make decisions but unsure about what.  
  
When the lumpy cushions shifted, he risked a one-eyed peek. “So when is your MoMA debut?”  
  
“How long can you wait?”  
  
_As long as it takes._ “What did Sofia say?”  
  
“She thinks I should get an agent.”  
  
The flatlined voice tipped him off. Dialed dead center into every inflection, every nuance of Justin’s tone and mood, acute perception told him something was off. “Probably a good idea.” He took a long swig of water. Why was he suddenly so dry, so barren? “What about the reviews?” No answer. “Hello? Earth to Justin.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Where the fuck were you?”  
  
“Nowhere. Nothing. What did you say?”  
  
_What the fuck is going on in his head?_ “What about the reviews?”  
  
“Oh, yeah. The usual platitudinous shit. For one so young, he has a mature knowledge of the human form, so much creativity, yada yada....”  
  
“And?”  
  
Justin heaved a sigh. “One critic said ‘it’s obvious the young artist’s inspiration is deeply rooted in his work. One can only imagine how his talent will evolve over time given the opportunity and stimulation.’”  
  
“I guess New York’s been a good muse for you.”  
  
“Did you even look at the paintings in the gallery?”  
  
“The lovely and charming Mademoiselle LaFontaine personally escorted me.”  
  
“But did you see them?”  
  
He floundered for words. “Um, it’s a little too early in the day for esotericism, Sunshine.”  
  
Justin jumped up with a clump of hair in each hand. “How fucking obtuse are you?”  
  
_Christ, now what?_ He massaged between his eyes. “Obviously, very obtuse because I don’t know what the fuck you mean. So humor me.”  
  
“New York wasn’t my fucking muse, Brian. New York wasn’t my fucking ‘soul and inspiration.’ New York wasn’t anything other than a depressing black hole!”  
  
_Okay, now we’ve strayed into the danger zone—‘time-bomb Sunshine’ territory._  
      
                                                                                                         * * *  
  
Torn apart by turbulent emotions, Justin weighed his choices. Some crashes could be avoided. This one couldn’t. “New York, the greatest city in the world.” He flailed his arms as he paced back and forth. “If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “New York was always your dream. So why are you willing to stagnate in the Pitts?”  
  
A glower dismissed the statement as ludicrous. “Stagnate? Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“No. Well, not exactly. It’s a fucking hyperbole to describe a bizarre lack of the bloodthirsty ambition I’ve come to love and hate.”  
  
Brian frowned as if the explanation was beyond his immediate comprehension. “I’m king in the Pitts now. Why would I consider it?”  
  
“It’s a risk. There are too many variables. Kind of weird when you think about it,” he mused. “You hate to show anything that could remotely be seen as weakness.”  
  
“What the fuck are you talking about?”  
  
“Something you don’t want to hear. When you thought you’d nailed the job at Kennedy & Collins, you weren’t looking back and you weren’t coming back.” Bitterness bled through his words as the pain flared up like a re-injured muscle. “You couldn’t wait to leave. The firm was successful and had a good reputation. It was safe. If you hadn’t pulled your head out of your ass about Stockwell and things had worked out, you would have had a choice client list on a silver platter. When you formed Kinnetik, it was still kind of safe because it was in your city with people and clients you knew. It was all fucking safe. But now? Not so much. You’d be throwing yourself off the cliff instead of doing it to someone else. The question is whether you have, to use one of Debbie’s favorite expressions, the cojones to do it.”  
  
He tracked the empty water bottle as it clattered across the floor. “Now that I’m here, all of a sudden you’re content there?” A stupefying flash of clarity broke through his mental storm clouds. “Unless that’s the reason. Unless _I’m_ the reason.”  
  
Brian scrambled to his feet. He stomped across the small space, jaw muscles working like a bulldozer shovel, and rattled the paper-thin walls with a bellow. “Are you fucking insane? You need to be here.”  
  
“What about you?”  
  
“What about me?”  
  
“Where do _you_ need to be?”  
  
“Nothing to do with this.”  
  
“It definitely does, Mr. I-Don’t-Want-to-Live-With-Someone-Who-Sacrifices-Their-Life-To-Be-With-Me. Another example of 'do as I say but not as I do'? Like I said, you can convince yourself of anything. You’re a fucking broken record. Get new material. As usual, that is such complete and utter bullshit I won’t waste my time dignifying it with a response. It’s also not an answer. It’s a fucking excuse.”  
  
“It’s not an excuse.”  
  
“Yes, it fucking is.” He had no choice. The time had come. The need to know had won out over the need to vomit. “Cards on the table. Do you want this? Do you want _me_? Do you want a relationship, not the appearance of one, not a pseudo one, but an honest-to-God partnership?”  
    
_“I need to know now, know now, can you love me again?”_ _©J.Newman_  
  
Brian crackled like a live wire. “What?”  
  
“Yes or no?”  
  
“Would I be here if I didn’t?”  
  
“Stop trying to buy time. Answer the fucking question!” Tick. Tick. No words. No nothing. His hands balled into fists. “You know what? I’ve had it. Go. Just fucking go.”  
  
“What the fuck? Give me a minute.”  
  
The precarious rein he had on his temper snapped. “Why? _I_ wouldn’t have fucking hesitated. _I_ never had any doubt. Until now.”  
  
“Shit.” Brian made a noise halfway between a groan and a growl. “Shit. Yes. Happy? Yes!”  
  
_Christ, he looks like he’d rather have root canal._ “Say it. Say the fucking words.”  
  
“I. Want. To. Have. A. Relationship. With. You.”  
  
“As long as it’s on your terms.” He wasn’t in the mood to placate or humor. Those days were over. “You know why we ended, Brian? We ended because you have no faith. Not in me, not in yourself, not in us. You said you were tired of dancing around. Well, so am I. We can’t keep playing the same game with two different sets of rules. Nobody wins.”

                                         _“Everybody’s playing the game, but nobody’s rules are the same.”_ _©Rice/Andersson/Ulvaeus_  
  
“I never—”  
  
“Sit the fuck down. I’m just getting started.” He squared his shoulders. _Here goes nothing._ “You live the way you do because you want to live that way. Sex is like eating and peeing, a necessity of life. It’s part of who you are. To paraphrase Descartes, ‘I fuck, therefore I am.’ You wouldn’t be the person I fell in love with otherwise. But I won’t have it shoved in my face anymore. I’m not going to ask ‘how was your fuck?’ and listen in rapt attention while you regale me with what went down or in your case, up. Yeah, I know you’ve made it perfectly clear I’m free to do the same. The funny thing is when someone pays attention to me or flirts with me, you act jealous and possessive, like we’re a real couple.”  
  
The worry and doubt that had kept him up night after night spilled out in a non-stop stream of consciousness. “But couples spend time together, maybe even plan a life together. They don’t go months without talking, without seeing each other, without any fucking communication at all. And if I say something, you either flip out or make me feel like a pitiful clinging vine. You want me to _show_ you by letting you fuck my brains out when we’re together.”  
  
“Are you complaining about getting fucked?”  
  
Another time, another place, he would have laughed at the comical expression. Not now. “So I’ve concluded that based on empirical evidence, you have more of an inclination for BDSM than you’ve let on—which, combined with your narcissism, would explain your freakish need to control everyone and everything—or you want me to be your pet rat. You let me out of my cage to fuck and play with me, then put me back. And in between, I race on my hamster wheel, trying to figure out what you want or what you mean.”  
  
“That’s not how we are. That’s not how I am.”  
  
He pounced on the uncertainty behind the words. “Isn’t it?”  
  
Brian squinted his eyes into slits. “You think you have me all figured out?”    
  
“Pretty much.”  
  
“That sure? You might be wrong.”  
  
“I’m close or you wouldn’t look like you want to strangle me. And while I enjoy playing as much as you, somehow I don’t think that’s what’s in your head. Oh, and to answer your question? Yeah, I’m that sure of myself.” He didn’t try to hide his smugness. “I can sum you up in one sentence. You have principles, such as they are. You aren’t afraid of much, other than yourself. And you love me.”  
  
“I guess math was your downfall on the SATs. That’s more than one sentence.”  
  
“Not if you use semi-colons.” He wanted to go on, to hammer away, but nothing would be gained by forcing the issue other than an exercise of wills. They were too aware of each other’s weaknesses. Nerves taut as a bowstring, he hoped his thoughts could do the convincing for him.  
  
**“With introverts, it may require a map in order to follow all the silences, nonverbal cues and passive-aggressive behaviors.”** A. McHugh

                                                                                                   * * *

The clock ticked, the refrigerator hummed, and the cars honked in the street—a backdrop of normalcy against the muted awkwardness that stretched like an eternity. Justin shifted from foot to foot. So much anxiety pulsed in the normally stoic man, he couldn’t gauge what was in his head. Uncertain what to do, he wrapped his arms protectively around himself and waited. He always seemed to be waiting.  
  
After a few minutes, Brian pulled himself up from the sofa and stood by the window, a chiseled sculpture in pride and bravado, yet a troubled portrait in conflict and torment. “Do you really think it could work?”

                                                                                               
  
  Justin struggled not to cry at the almost childlike optimism, but the sting in his sinuses told another story. He pinched the bridge of his nose. No fucking way. “Could what work?”  
  
“Me. Here. You. Us.”  
                                            _“How many times must I say I love you before you finally understand?”_ _©J.L.Williams_  
  
What would it take, how long would it take for him to see how good they could be together if given a healthy shot at the brass ring? “I do. I wouldn’t have survived this past year if I didn’t think there was a chance. Fuck, I wouldn’t have survived the past six years if I didn’t believe we could work.” He nibbled at his lip. “But _you_ have to believe it. I’m tired of being the little engine muttering ‘I think I can, I think I can’ as I drag you up the mountain. So before I get my hopes up, I have to be sure you consider every fucking possibility, every fucking detail about what you’re getting into. I can’t, I won’t do this again only to have you go off the deep end when you suffer a crisis of the spirit or feel threatened or guilty or cornered or whatever the fuck delusion you conjure up to justify leaving me out on a limb—or worse.                                    

                                                                                         
“I’m not asking for monogamy, Brian. Maybe we’ll never get there. Maybe someday we will. Who knows? What I am asking for is commitment.” His throat tightened. Please let me get through this without blubbering. “Fuck, I don’t want to chain you. I just ...I just want to love you.” Damn, this was turning into a fucking _Gay As Blazes_ episode. Did he go too far by wanting it too much? A sure way to lose him was to push him, trap him. Would he walk out without even saying goodbye? He was so quiet, so unmoving, he didn’t think he would answer.  
  
“Are you that sure?”

                                                                                        
                                                        
_Jesus, was he sure?_ He fought to stay upright. The dent in the armor had stolen whatever strength he had and liquefied his bones. Maybe he hadn’t screwed up after all. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”  
  
“Christ, you of all people know I’m no prize. You’ve had first hand experience. I’m cold-blooded, selfish, controlling—”  
  
His mouth thinned into an exasperated line. “Enough with the self-flagellation. You’ve drunk so much of your friends’ Kool Aid over the years, it’s warped your brain. Stop parroting them and stop believing them because they don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about. As far as I’m concerned, they can all take a hike. At the very least, they should take a science class. Cold-blooded doesn’t mean cold-hearted. And even though it’s a fate worse than death to admit it, you’re also caring and gentle.” He challenged the huff of disagreement. “What? You are.”    
  
“So I’m irresistible?”  
  
Thank God for the brief return of the smart ass. “You’re the ideal man. But don’t worry, I promise to keep your secret identity.” He braced himself for a typical Kinney response. He received silence instead. Again. The kind that clogged his lungs with a quicksand of fear.  
  
“Why? Why me?”  
                                                                                                                                                     
  
More physically painful than any blade, the three words stabbed him in the heart and without warning, ignited an inner firestorm of rage. For one brief moment, he hated them all, hated their careless rejection of this man who did not deserve to be rejected. The poignant glimpse into a lifetime of longing showed how deadly a weapon a person’s inner darkness could be. If used by others or worse, himself, it could destroy him. Determination sharpened his chin. “Why not you?”  
  
“Ju— I won’t make promises I can’t keep, and I can’t promise I won’t hurt you.”  
  
He wanted to shake or kiss some sense into him. Both if it would help. But it wouldn’t, and it also wouldn’t be enough. “Did I ask you to?”  
  
“No, but—”  
  
“I can’t promise I won’t hurt you, either. Both of us made mistakes. You don’t get to corner the market on guilt by yourself. There’s more than enough to go around. Look, there are no guarantees in life. But that doesn’t seem to stop anyone. It certainly didn’t stop me. It won’t ever stop me. All we can do is try and hope for the best.”  
  
“So what do we do now?”  
  
He hesitated. “Take it one day at a time?”  
  
“Aren’t you a little young to be channeling an eighties sitcom?”  
  
“I’m not channeling anything. I just—” Without a word, Brian snaked a hand around his neck, curled his fingers in his hair and catapulted his heart into his throat. Lips and soul on fire, he forgot to inhale.  
  
                                                                                                      * * *  
Justin’s POV:                                                 

                                                       _“All your life you were only waiting for this moment to arise.”_ _©McCartney_  
  
I want to pinch myself. After months and in retrospect years, after all the drama and fucking bullshit, we’re here.I told him I always believed in us. I didn’t tell him how hard it was. This year tested whatever faith I had. I grew more cynical, more disillusioned as time went on. I even went a day or two without thinking about him. It freaked me out. If I could go one or two days, did that mean I could totally forget him over time?  
  
That I’ve been able to have a life without him, not the one I wanted but a life nonetheless, scares the shit out of me. It also makes me angry it was even possible.  
  
Brian’s POV:          
                                                             _“It was not your fault, but mine. And it was your heart on the line._  
_I really fucked it up this time, didn’t I, my dear?_ _©_ _Mumford &Sons_  
  
  
His eyes are unfocused, his dick hot and hard against my thigh. Yet, when I kissed him, I sensed a distance I never felt before. He was with me but not all the way. And I have no one to blame but myself. I almost lost him for good. What the fuck was I thinking? Yeah, I know. No regrets. Whatever.  
  
I told myself I never needed anyone. I was better off alone. But I didn't realize how empty I’d been until his teenage waterworks outside the loft. I cut him off when he started with the love bullshit. What the fuck did a seventeen year old know about love? More than I did, obviously. I tried to get him out of my head by giving George Goodfuck the fuck of a lifetime. It didn’t work. Justin’s in my blood. I can’t get him out.  
  
I finally get what’s been bothering me. I’ve known for six years what I wanted but was too chicken-shit scared. I don’t want to get him out.  
  
_“Til now, I always got by on my own. I never really cared until I met you.”_

  
                                                                                                     * * *  
**È scritto nelle stelle.   (It is written in the stars)**  
  
“You know how I know we’re going to make it?”  
  
The breathless question didn’t interrupt Brian’s onslaught of kisses, but the megawatt smile did as it burrowed its warmth into his bones. “Do tell, Mysterious Justin.”  
  
“We have the two things that matter most. Each other. I mean, let’s face it. According to the laws of the universe, there’s no way we should be together. And yet—”  
  
“Here we are,” he snarked. He brushed aside strands of blond hair and shifted his focus to his ear.  
  
“Exactly. So there has to be something more, something from the beginning that made me believe we were meant to be. When you think about it—”  
  
“Um, not that I don’t find the subject of fate and circumstance fascinating, but could we postpone the intellectual discussion until an undetermined date in the future, preferably one where I’m drunk or stoned enough to listen?”  
  
“Fair enough.” Justin put his hand on his chest and gently pushed him away. “But we are going to talk. Not about the cosmos but about us.”  
  
_Way to kill the moment, Sunshine._  
  
“We can’t just pick up where we left off. We’re different people. We have to get acquainted with who we are now. If we don’t, all this will have been for nothing. I don’t know about you, but the last thing I want is a rerun of Brian and Justin on the Titanic.”  
  
Brian did his best to look wounded. “You mean I’m not king of the world?”  
  
“Maybe king of your world.”  
  
“Gee, thanks. I see you haven’t lost your inimitable flair for flattery.”  
  
“Ooh, how alliterative! Trawling for compliments?”    
  
“What do you think?” He drew in a breath. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” The dubious expression prompted him to add, “Fine, you _are_ right. It wouldn’t hurt to straighten out some shit but none of that kumbaya crap like Emmett and Mikey’s excellent adventure in faeryland.”  
  
“Agreed. Somehow I can’t picture you prancing around a forest searching for your inner self. Besides, I already found him. But it would be fun to come up with a faerie name for you. And I’d love to see you in a periwinkle strapless chiffon. Hmm, no, not periwinkle. Emerald green. Yep, definitely emerald green—to match your fantasy of being the Wizard of Oz.” He batted his eyelashes and darted away.  
  
Coquettish little fucker. He’d get him later. “Uh, one more thing....”  
  
“You’re awfully bossy all of a sudden.”  
  
“What was it you said about my inclination for BDSM?” When Justin stuck his tongue out, he gave an indulgent shake of his head. “Ah, living proof there’s no correlation between intelligence and maturity. I just want to get this one detail out of the way before we go any further. Can we use a different term other than rules? It didn’t work so well the last time.”

                                                                                                         * * *  
  
Justin cringed. Shit. His stupid idea. Hisfucking rules. Nothing like making them and being the only one to break them. “Guidelines? Parameters?”  
  
“Whatever the fuck you want to call it. I don’t care,” Brian said as he strolled around the tiny space. “So you want us to get reacquainted?”  
  
His insides stirred at the muscular, long-limbed stride. God, the man oozed sex from every pore. “We have to,” he insisted. “I mean—”

                                                                                            

Brian spun around with a wicked gleam, and just like that, the earth tilted on its axis. An invisible force sucked the air from the room and harnessed the energy into a swirling funnel of desire and lust. Like a jungle cat stalking his prey, he slithered into his personal space until they were mere inches apart. “How’s it going? Had a busy night?”  
                                               
The smoke-husky voice pebbled Justin’s flesh and catapulted him back to a pivotal moment forever linked with this man. As nervous now as he was then, his words came out in a throaty gasp. “Just checking out the bars, you know. Boy Toy, Meathook....”  
  
“Meathook? Really? So you’re into leather?”  
  
Flames licked at his spine and lit a fire in his groin. “Sure.”  
  
“Where you headed?”  
  
“No place special,” he croaked.  
  
“I can change that.”  
                                                                                                  * * *

  
The magnet of need was too potent. Like a smoldering ember stoked to life, Brian’s passion roared with a vengeance. He had to be inside him, and he couldn’t get there fast enough.  
  
Leaving a trail of discarded clothing in his wake, he breathed him in and all coherent thought vanished. Under the spell of the scented aphrodisiac, he licked and sucked with a ravenous hunger that gnawed at his bones.  
                    

                         
  
When Justin reached for the condom, he batted his hands away and rolled the latex on with his own shaky fingers. He’d come on the spot if he touched him. He settled between his thighs, cockhead nestled at his opening, and claimed him without apology, without hesitation. Justin’s eyes widened at the burn and held his gaze as he inched deeper into the tight channel. Slick and hot. For him. Only for him.  
                          
Like a rollercoaster grinding its way to the top, he set a torturous pace, each thrust igniting a new burst of arousal. When he hit Justin’s prostate, he slid his arms under his shoulders, raised him up, and probed his mouth with the same primal rhythm as the cock in his ass. His muscles twitched from the effort to make the moment last, but the tightly wound coil of need sent the message to pick up the pace, and his strokes became more forceful and urgent.  
  
Before his orgasm swallowed him whole, Justin whispered, “I love you.” And Brian imploded with a strangled groan, pushed over the edge by the depth of love from him and for him. Unburdened at last, he was home.                  
  
_“Making love with you has left me peaceful, warm, and tired._  
_What more could I ask? There’s nothing left to be desired._  
_Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe and to love you.”_ _©A.Hammond_

   
                                                             * * *  
Justin’s POV _:_  
  
I drifted in and out of the best sleep I’ve had in months, but I woke up more than once. I couldn’t shake the sense of surreality. Was he really here? Was I hallucinating? I had dreamed this scene so often, I wasn’t sure.  
  
We still have so much to work out and so many decisions to make, but this time it’ll be as adults and equal partners, not a retread of our previous maladjusted phases. I’m not that naive to think this will be easy. Life with Brian never was and never will be easy. But he’s worth it. I’m up to the challenge. I always have been. I just had to convince him.  
  
I can’t keep my eyes open, but I have to look at him one more time before I fall back to sleep, He is a visual feast of naked perfection. He doesn’t need clothes to disguise physical flaws. He doesn’t have any. I wanted my pad and charcoals but didn’t dare get up. If this really was a dream and I moved, it would be over. So I sketched him with my eyes instead.  
  
Brian’s POV:  
              
When I surfaced from my post-orgasmic coma, he was fused to me, his right hand over my heart. I was shocked that I’d covered it with my left.

                                                                           

With the need to piss a priority, I untangled us, careful not to wake him. I don’t know why I bothered, though. Give him a good meal or a good fuck—okay, a blow-your-mind fuck—and he’s down for the count until the next round. I shuffled to the bathroom but hurried back, too afraid he’d say this was a mistake and I should get the fuck out of his life. But lucky for me, he hasn’t moved. I’m not being flippant. I do mean lucky.  
  
I always thought I was the logical one. I knew what was best for him and for us, regardless of the price. But in the end, Justin understood better than I ever did or could. He’s the strongest, most determined fucker I know. He goes after what he wants despite the risk. He got me, right?  
  
I can’t stop staring at him. He tells me without the words he always wants to hear that he’s with me, that he wants me, that I belong to him.  
  
And I’m here because I want to be, because I want him. And I will never let him go again. He knows because I told him. Who says we don’t communicate?

  
_“Come for an hour, stay for the moment, stay for the rest of your life.”_ _©Styx_

  
_~FINI~_


End file.
